The Occupational Hazards of a Journalist
by AhriRose
Summary: Olive Blake is a recently hired writer for the local paper, Central Today. By a stroke of luck she's given her first interview. She's still debating on whether that luck is good or bad, considering she's interviewing the recently convicted Crimson Alchemist.
1. Chapter 1

_The Occupational Hazards of a Journalist_

 _By - AhriRose_

 _Summary_ : Olive Blake is a recently hired writer for the local paper, Central Today. By a stroke of luck she's given her first interview. She's still debating on whether that luck is good or bad, considering she's interviewing the recently convicted Crimson Alchemist.

 _Disclaimer_ : Anything you recognize does **not** belong to me.

Fullmetal Alchemist © Hiroshi Arakawa

 _Warning_ : This fanfiction contains OC's as well as some things that may be considered AU. Enter at your own risk.

Chapter One: Congratulations or Condolences

The newsroom was bustling with energy as people hurried from desk to desk, gossiping amongst each other. Several people gasped, while others wore looks of distinct fear as they shook their heads furiously.

Executive editor Winston Whitley paced about his office, his face wearing one of excitement as he began to gush to one of his editors, "Mathew this is going to be the story of the year! If we can get him to crack —get him to reveal some insider information— Central Today will wipe the floor with The Central Times!"

Mathew looked apprehensive as he gulped, "Sir… No one's going to be willing to interview _him_." Winston waved the young man off, his grin still in place, "We'll get someone to agree, make some half-assed promises."

"You don't _even want to know_ how many strings I had to pull with Central Command to allow an interview with their most dangerous prisoner," Winston boasted, "Let alone the favors I had to use with Central Prison."

"And the Crimson Alchemist?" Mathew's face paled as the words left his mouth.

Winston snorted as his movement still, "Crazy bastard was _more than willing_ to allow a reporter to interview him."

"Who-who are you ch-choosing?" The young man was visibly shaking, likely hoping _he_ wouldn't be the reporter chosen for the job.

The older man began to allow his thumb to trace the dimple in his chin, pausing in thought as he surveyed the newsroom through the large window in his office. Mathew followed his gaze, twisting in his chair to eye each employee with a look of pity.

"Her," Winston's eyed a petite blonde slouched over her typewriter.

Mathew followed his gaze with a deadpan expression, " _Her?_ You do remember that she officially started last week… right?"

"Why not?" The older man's lips upturned into a smirk, "She graduated top of her class, two years early, and she's got a the mental aptitude to deal with that psychopath."

The younger man rolled his eyes, the action going unnoticed by his superior, "It's because she's your niece isn't it?"

"Next best thing to me getting the interview," Winston sheepishly admitted while his hand rubbed the back of his neck. With a cough he straightened up, "Plus she can't quit." Mathew gave him an incredulous look.

Winston shrugged, "My sister didn't raise a quitter, she won't let Liv throw in the towel over a simple interview."

"Yeah," Mathew mumbled, "Just a simple interview with one of the most dangerous criminals in Central Prison." Winston sent him a withering glare, unimpressed with his vocal musings.

Around midday was when Olive Blake was called into her uncle's office, feeling equal parts anxious and elated. She had heard the murmuring around the newsroom, hardly anyone had gotten anything done today with the rumor floating around.

The Crimson Alchemist, Solf J. Kimblee, was to be interviewed by someone from Central Today newspaper. There would be several pages dedicated to the interview, depending on how much information the criminal decided to share.

No one was under the impression they could persuade him to give information. The consensus was that he would give the information he wanted; nothing more, nothing less.

When she heard the news she had suspected her uncle would pick her. Whether it was lucky or not she hadn't decided yet.

As it was, Winston Whitley was an arrogant man.

He boasted about his accomplishments to anyone in the vicinity of him, uncaring if they were listening or nodding off, something Olive was guilty of. He was incredibly proud of his newspaper, which he inherited from his father.

"You asked for me?" Olive sank into the chair moments after her gestured for her to sit.

Winston gave her a dazzling smile, "I'm sure you've already heard the splendid news! We received approval from the Fuhrer himself to conduct a series of exclusive interviews with the Crimson Alchemist, isn't it just grand?"

Olive gave her uncle a nod, an unconvincing smile appearing on her face.

"I've been using the pull I have at Central Command since he was apprehended, and calling in favors once he was sentenced! We're the only paper covering this. It'll be a complete exposé on his life and crimes in Ishval." Winston wore a grin so wide he looked as if his cheeks would split at any moment.

"And you called me in here because…?" She attempted nonchalant, but only succeeded in sounding bored.

Winston didn't seem to care either way, "I've chosen _you_ to conduct the interviews! Now don't you worry— there'll be guards in the beginning, but I'm hoping if he behaves I can get them to give you two some alone time, maybe he'll reveal some secrets with a one-on-one session."

Olive gulped, her brow beginning to sweat at the knowledge, "One-on-one? Don't you think you should ask my mother? Or one of the other reporters, someone with more experience? This will be my first interview… surely you don't think I should be in charge of such a… _delicate_ case."

"Effie?" He sneered at his sister's name, "She's gotten enough recognition through the years. I think she'd agree that it's time to pass the torch."

The young woman shrunk back into her seat, unsure of how she could possibly get out of this.

"Now don't be frightened," He noted her appearance, "All you'll have to do is ask a series of questions, I've already got them written out, but feel free to bounce off them and ask your own. I scheduled your first interview tomorrow at eight o'clock sharp, but you'll have to schedule the rest with the Crimson Alchemist himself —his own request."

Olive shivered at the mention of his name.

"Devote all your time on this, but take your time. Don't scare him off by shooting off questions," Olive felt her mouth twitch at the notion of her scaring such an infamous murderer.

"Make sure you dress nice. Wear something warm. My buddy Dave told me the cellblocks are kept pretty chilly."

"How long do you this will take?" Olive stealthily crossed her fingers behind her back, a hopeful expression crossing her face.

"The interview tomorrow? Roughly an hour, max visitor hours is one hour per visit, but don't feel obligated to stay the whole time if he isn't cooperating. To get what we want it'll take a few months at least."

Her face immediately fell at the information, her fingers uncrossing simultaneously.

"Now get out of here," He gleefully chided, "Rest up for tomorrow!"

Olive noted the relieved faces as she left her uncle's office. Not a single person had the decency to even look sympathetic as she grabbed her things and left the building.

Her stride was slowed, shoulders hunched, as she all but dragged her feet.

It was nearing noon when she finally made it home.

Home was a two-story house, with flowers meticulously blossoming in the garden just below the kitchen window. Five bedrooms and three and half bathrooms, much more space than needed for three adults.

Olive lived with her mother and uncle, who lived together out of necessity at one point. Now they lived together for convenience.

Effie Blake was a gorgeous woman who fit most of society's conventional beauty standards; tall, curvaceous, blonde, blue-eyed, with a flawless porcelain complexion. People always assumed she'd grow to be the wife of some high-ranking general or perhaps a faraway prince.

She had settled for a private in the Amestrian military, Reed Blake, who was called to the front lines at the very beginning of the war of Ishval. Unfortunately he passed soon after arriving.

People gossiped, thinking her composed outward appearance meant she was indifferent.

Truly she had been devastated by the loss of her husband, but she had to be strong for someone else; her daughter.

"You're home early," Effie spoke effortlessly from her spot on the couch, sipping her tea as she eyed her daughter.

Olive cringed, "Yeah… Uncle Win gave me the 'interview of the year' with—"

Effie gasped, placing her teacup on the coaster on the coffee table, "— _the Crimson Alchemist_?" She cut off Olive, standing as she continued to shout, "The bastard! Giving my daughter her first interview with an infamous criminal! I see what he's doing Liv, he's trying to outshine me!"

Her daughter instantly wilted, sighing as she attempted to tune out her mother's rant.

"I've been given several pieces to write, sure… how-to's and gossip columns, but _this!_ This is something a true reporter would do, and to give it to an amateur!" Effie fumed, her fists trembling as she gritted her teeth.

"Well maybe he'll—"

Her mother cut her off again as she waved her hand, "—No! Absolutely not! I refuse to grovel at that pig's feet."

Olive sighed, "I wasn't suggest—"

"—No," Olive simply rolled her eyes at the interjection, "No you'll do the interview, and you will do fabulously! This is your shot to become a well-known reporter! To be a journalist just like your mother!"

She continued to rave about her accomplishments as a writer, but Olivia had begun to inch her way toward the staircase. She'd rather miss out on eating lunch, than be subjected to her mother's erratic ranting.

Later that evening Olivia found herself sitting in the middle of the long dining table, her mother and uncle sitting at either end.

"Make sure to maintain eye-contact," Effie encouraged.

Winston snorted, "Terrible advice! Keep your eyes fixed on the notepad, you don't want to forget to ask something important!"

"This isn't a single interview," Effie sneered, "If she looks uninterested he might decide this isn't worth his time!"

"Worth his time?" Winston chucked half-heartedly, "The man's in prison! He's got all the time in the world… well, before he's executed."

The exchange continued in a similar manor, leaving Olive to eat in silence. It was something she was accustomed too, and often led her to wonder why the siblings wanted to continue to live together.

 _Notes_ : **_Thanks for reading!_**


	2. Chapter 2

_The Occupational Hazards of a Journalist_

 _By - AhriRose_

 _Disclaimer_ : Anything you recognize does **not** belong to me.

Fullmetal Alchemist © Hiroshi Arakawa

 _Note_ : There's a lot not known about Kimblee, especially in relation to his past. With the information available I patched together something of a background for him. Thoughts and comments regarding his past are always welcome! And thank you for reading!

 _Chapter Two: Awkward Meetings_

Olive woke exceptionally early.

Partly in hopes of easing her nerves, but mostly in hopes that she would be able to exit the house without either relative noticing.

She showered, dressed, and made her way down to the kitchen without incident.

Well, would've been without incident, if her mother hadn't been waiting at the bottom of the stairs. She gripped her daughter's shoulders roughly, before spinning her and assessing her choice of outfit.

"You look wonderful," Effie gushed, "And you chose a skirt! A little longer than I would've suggested, but you still have the ability to flash some thigh to get better info." Olivia shivered at her mother's wording, and gagged when her mother winked at her.

She quickly side-stepped, fleeing into the kitchen as her mother shouted, "Put on lipstick!"

Winston was seated at the dining table, paper in hand as he attempted to look casual. His eyes kept darting from his niece and back to his paper every few seconds.

Olivia knew he wasn't reading, there was no possible way he was reading anything other than the same two or three words over and over again. She sighed as she began rummaging in the fridge for breakfast.

"Good choice with the skirt," He finally spoke up, "I always tell my female journalists, there's nothing wrong with a flash of—"

"—thigh," Olivia grimaced, "I don't know what's more disturbing… My uncle telling me to flash a criminal a little skin, or the fact that my mother just told me the same thing."

Winston zeroed in on one detail, "Effie told you that?" He snorted as he flung his paper onto the table, "Thigh is great, but what'll get you the best info…is a little panty shot." Olivia immediately choked on her spit, slamming the fridge shut as she darted toward her bag.

"I hope you wore something lacy!" Olive attempted to erase the last twenty minutes from her mind as she sprinted out the front door.

She looked at her wrist and noted that she had about forty-five minutes before the interview.

Her stomach grumbled loudly, a reminder that she had forgotten to eat in the rush to flee her home. With a groan she turned the corner suddenly, gripping her purse as she rummaged around for her wallet.

After she was finished at the cafe she began trudging toward the prison, anxiety building with every step she took.

"I really should've passed on the coffee," she whined.

Olive had opted to have a simple bagel with a side of fruit, she figured a large breakfast would just make her nauseous once she was in the room with a murderer. Too bad she hadn't used that logic when the cute waitress asked if she wanted coffee.

Now the caffeine was making her jittery, something she had already been before the drink.

She arrived at Central Prison with ten minutes to spare— plenty of time to go through the thorough pat down and mandatory bag check.

Olive was relinquished of her bag, only allowed to carry her notebook and pen.

"You sure did dress nice just to meet with a murderer," The guard mused.

Small talk wasn't one of Olive's strong suites, so she opted for a joke, "Well I didn't get the memo on how to dress to meet one so…"

He chuckled, and Olive was met with sweet quiet. The only sound that broke up what otherwise would be silence, was the sound of her slightly heeled boots which clacked against the floor with her every step.

As they neared the entrance to the room Olive felt her heart rate increase. The walk had somehow lulled her into contentment, but as the guard began to swing the door open she felt a sudden wave of nausea.

The room was moderate in size, about the size of the average living room. The only furniture to speak of was a rectangular metal table accompanied by two metal chairs.

One of those chairs was occupied.

The occupant straightened up as Olive began walking toward the open chair. She made a mental note to wear less noisy shoes as her heels echoed with each movement.

A bit of her worry was eased as she eyed the amount of guards in the room. Two were by the wall adjacent to the table, two standing on either side of the only door, and then there was the guard that had escorted her inside, who was waiting just outside the door.

Five guards against one alchemist. The odds would vary on the skill of the alchemist, but Olive was brought comfort as she noted his hands. They were separated by a strip of wood, keeping them apart and unable to connect.

It was a well-known fact, or at least it was drilled into her head by reading the notes in the notebook she had, that this alchemist had his transmutations tattooed on the palm of his hands. Olive was no alchemist, but she had thought it was a pretty ingenious idea, and briefly wondered why more alchemists didn't follow suit.

"Um," Olive attempted an introduction, but the words died in her throat as she sat down.

The chair had no back support to speak of, and she knew her backside would be aching later.

She was brought out of her thoughts by the man sitting in front of her. His black hair was loose, strands fell in front of his face, but it somehow held a luster after a year of imprisonment. There was stubble along his chin and upper lip, leading Olive to deduct that he was either allowed to shave at times, or he just wasn't one of those people capable of growing a beard.

His eyes were the final thing she noticed. They were blue, cerulean if she had to pick a shade to describe them, but the color wasn't what stood out. It was how piercing they were. How they made Olive feel. As if they could see down into her soul.

"I-I'm Olive Blake," She finally breathed out.

He inclined his head as he appraised her. It was clear that he was mostly unimpressed, although one could see a glimmer in his eyes. Solf J. Kimblee was curious. Of course he knew when he agreed to the interview that they would send a journalist, but he had expected someone older and masculine.

"You already know who I am," He smiled, "But for pleasantries sake, I'm Solf J. Kimblee."

His voice was husky, but it seemed rougher than it probably was normally. Olivia was inclined to believe he was parched, but made no move to rectify it.

She immediately settled on placing her notebook down, using her index and thumb to flip through the pages until she paused on one filled with written questions.

"I hope you don't mind me diving right in," Olive apologized.

Kimblee shrugged, showing her that he didn't care either way.

She nodded as she allowed her eyes to drift down to the page, "So the records show that you joined the military just a year after the war broke out, and applied to be a state alchemist soon after you graduated… Was the war a contributing factor in your choice to join?"

He eased his head back, seeming like he was deep in thought before answering, "Not necessarily. I saw it as a means to an end."

Olive nodded as she jotted down the response. _A means to an end._

"There's not a whole lot of information readily available on your past… Is there anything you'd like to share? Any notable childhood experiences?"

Kimblee gave a slight chuckle, which drew Olive's eyes up to his face.

"I wasn't the type to needlessly kill animals or torture classmates, if that's what you're curious about," Olive's guilty expression presumed as much, "Honestly my childhood was average. My parents were normal people. I was their only child."

Olive decided to go off page for a moment, "Are they still around?"

"No," He admitted, "They died a few months after I joined the military, two months apart actually."

"Were you close?"

"As close as any adult is with their parents," He shrugged, "They lived in a small town just outside East City. We mostly communicated through the occasional phone call, sometimes I'd send a letter."

Olive nodded at the information, feeling obligated to offer condolences, but feeling it may be inappropriate given the setting. She settled on moving on to the next round of questions.

"So," She drawled out, "Did you make any friends during your time in training? Or enemies?"

"I didn't see the need for them," He spoke candidly, "My goal was to graduate, and I did."

 _I didn't see the need for them_ , Olive wrote in quotations.

"You're a bit young to be a journalist, aren't you?" The sudden question surprised Olive. She stared at him for a moment, unsure of what called for this sudden turnaround.

"Not really," Olive spoke slowly, confusion laced in her words, "I graduated two years early, but I'm not really _that_ young."

Kimblee smirked, mentally noting how she omitted her age entirely.

Olive frowned as she allowed her eyes to drift back to her notebook, before deciding to retake the conversation, "Back to you… When did you first get into alchemy?"

He looked deep in thought for a moment before answering, "I was always intrigued by alchemy, but it wasn't until I was a teenager that I finally began to learn."

"So are you self-taught or did you have a master?"

"Self-taught," He spoke evenly.

She eyed his palms wearily, but also fully intrigued. In her twenty-one years of life she had never befriended an alchemist, nor had she ever actually met one. They only exposure she had to alchemy was witnessing an alchemist repair a vase he had broken at a shop.

To her, it was impossible.

Science had never interested her enough to pursue it in depth. She was completely fine with never fully understanding alchemy.

Catching her gaze Kimblee outstretched his palms, giving her a better view of the alchemic symbols.

"It's reported that your alchemy is explosive… when did you first, _realize_ I guess would be the best term, that you had a fixation with explosions?"

He rested his hands, well the wooden board, on the table with a slightly clank. His eyes shut for a moment as he spoke, "The first time I experienced an explosion was when I was nineteen, during my training at the military academy."

Olive's pen began scratching away as he continued, "There's a small portion of training geared toward grenades. We learned about them, their properties, and then we were able to use them. I had never witnessed something so _beautiful_."

Her hand stilled as she looked up.

Their eyes met, a shiver made it's way up Olive's spine causing goosebumps to appear on her exposed skin. She mentally thanked her uncle for telling her to dress warmly, as most her skin was covered with her long-sleeved blouse and knee-length skirt.

"And so you created those symbols?"

He followed her gaze back to his palms, "Transmutation circles… simply a doorway for alchemic abilities."

She noted his ambiguous response.

The guard from earlier suddenly appeared in the doorway, motioning to the clock above. She noted that she still _technically_ had ten minutes left, but clearly the guards were getting a bit tense.

With a sigh she turned to her interviewee. "Sorry… guess our time's run out… my un— _my boss_ —," Olive cringed at her own mistake, "My boss told me to ask you how you wanted to do this, when it would be best to come and continue the interviews that is."

If Kimblee noticed her slip up he made no verbal note of it, instead he smiled, "I tend to prefer mornings, so same time tomorrow?"

Olive nodded in agreement, "Do you want me to come here everyday at eight? Or just weekdays?"

"Eager aren't we?" She shivered at his wording, the implications running rampant in her mind.

"I can't imagine you want to sit in a cold room and interview a criminal every morning, but be my guest," Kimblee chortled, "I have no where else to be."

She decided not to respond verbally, settling on a nod instead. It was nearing the five minute mark, so Olive opted to stand and leave. Her exit was abrupt, and she hadn't realized until she was halfway down the hall with her escort that she may of came off as rude.

The rest of her day went by with ease.

She had lunch at the local sandwich shop with a childhood friend of hers, Gracia Thompson, whom she had lunch with at least two or three times a week.

"How did the interview go?" Gracia inquired softly.

Olive cringed. "That bad?" Gracia chuckled, a smile appearing on her face. Olive found herself smiling back despite herself, unable to feel anything but content around her dearest friend.

"Honestly it didn't go horribly. He answered all my questions, and he wasn't," She paused, thinking about her wording, "he wasn't what I expected."

Gracia nodded, seemingly understanding even with the lack of knowledge.

"Don't judge me," Olive leaned toward her friend with her hand cupped around the side of her mouth. Gracia leaned toward her friend, offering an ear as she strained herself to hear the soft murmur of her friend's voice.

"He was beyond handsome," Olivia got the words out, face red in embarrassment, as she leaned back into her seat.

Gracia covered her mouth as she giggled at the admission, "I'm not judging, but I do find it funny that you only ever find the 'bad boys' attractive." Olive immediately protested, but she was silenced by a single word, "Henry."

Olive groaned, eyes rolling as she recalled the boy in question.

Henry was the bad boy in their elementary school. Always made a point to talk back to the teachers, play pranks, and refused to turn in homework. The icing on the metaphorical cake was when he pulled Olive's pigtails and pushed her into the sandbox headfirst.

Most little girl's would cry over getting a mouth full of sand, but no, Olive was infatuated.

This one incident led Gracia to teasingly referring to Olive as a willful masochist. This only intensified as Olive got older and continued to make bad judgment calls. Gracia always supported her friend though, and was always there to be a shoulder to cry on or an ear for vents.

"So how goes things with the boyfriend?"

Gracia allowed the subject change, a blush finding it's way across her cheeks, "Maes has been wonderful. I worried that he'd be distant after the war but…"

" _But…?_ " Olive coaxed.

An outstretched hand entered Olive's vision, a very unfamiliar diamond ring sitting pretty on her friend's ring finger.

Olive gasped, tentatively grasping her friend's hand as she she eyed the ring, "Oh my…! This is _beautiful_ Gracia! Maes really spent a pretty penny on this, _wow_!"

Gracia giggled at the attention, her free hand attempting to cover her red cheeks, "I know, I know! We've already agreed on a date too, which is why I asked you to meet me here today…"

Olive waited with baited breath as she released her friend's hand.

"…Will you please be my maid-of-honor?"

Her eyes welled up immediately, a deep pride blooming in her chest, "Of course I will!" They shared a hug, ignoring the onlookers eyeing the pair with interest.

The duo spent the rest of their lunch gushing over the wedding. Gracia was very adamant about not having a bachelorette party, but eventually compromised on a bridal shower at the least. They went back and forth, exchanging ideas as they spoke about the big day.

"Maes really would love it if you brought a date," Gracia spoke near the end of their lunch.

Olive rolled her eyes. Maes had been dating Gracia a few months before he was sent off to fight in the war. Gracia had never had much luck in the dating field. Most men she had dated complained that she was too demure, but that never stopped her from dating.

She had never brought a man to meet her best friend Olive. That in itself left an impression when Gracia brought Maes to meet her one evening. He was a bit erratic, but also a complete sweetheart. He doted on Gracia the way Olive had always felt she deserved.

His only flaw was his attempt at playing matchmaker with Olive.

He had this wild fantasy of Olive marrying _his_ best friend, whom she had never met. That way their children would be the 'ultimate best friends' according to Maes.

With a sigh Olive spoke, "Please tell him for the _last_ time… I'm not going on a date with his best friend Ray."

"Roy," Gracia corrected, "His best friend is _Roy_ Mustang. He's a state alchemist you know."

"Oh yeah… _The hero of Ishval_ ," Olive rolled her eyes, "That's great and all, but I have the distinct feeling that he's probably not on board with this 'blind date' idea also."

Gracia just smiled, and Olive immediately knew her instinct was right.

By the time Olive made it home it was nearing sundown, causing her to pick up the pace.

There had been a few murders in Central, and some were speculating that it was a single person committing them; a serial killer. So far only a specific type of person had been targeted, and while Olive didn't fit the MO, she didn't want to risk it by staying out late needlessly.

"I was wondering when you'd get home," Her mother rounded on her just as her feet crossed the threshold, "Tell me _everything!_ "

And tell Olive did, although she omitted the admission she made to Gracia.

"You made amazing progress Liv," Effie gushed, "And you tell Gracia I fully expect an invitation to her wedding! She's like a second daughter to me!" Olive nodded, though she was nearly certain Gracia would invite both her family members, seeing as she was fairly close with both.

The rest of the evening was fairly relaxed, sans Olive's mother asking for details on not only the interview, but Gracia's engagement. Which spiraled into a thorough questioning on why Olive wasn't dating anyone.

She had yet to tell her mother about Maes' fantasy, because she had the inkling her mother would fully endorse it.


	3. Chapter 3

_The Occupational Hazards of a Journalist_

 _By - AhriRose_

 _Disclaimer_ : Anything you recognize does **not** belong to me.

Fullmetal Alchemist © Hiroshi Arakawa

 _Notes_ : Thank you to everyone that has reviewed, followed, and favorited! It means a lot to know people are enjoying this. My goal is to update once a week or so, but I may update more frequently depending on how life goes.

 _Chapter Three_

Every single day, for two weeks, Olive arrived at the prison at seven forty-five on the dot.

She was even on a first name basis with the guard that escorted her to her interview. Ted was a few years older than Olive, and completely smitten with the brown-eyed beauty; or so he called her in his thoughts.

Olive was oblivious.

"That dress looks really lovely on you Olive," Ted complimented, a blush making it's way across his cheeks.

She cringed at the sound of her full name as she looked down at her dress, feeling slightly embarrassed at the remark. The dress was cream in color, with powder blue birds and tree branches embroidered. It had a halter neckline and tapered toward her waist, before fanning out and ending mid-thigh.

It was something that was completely inappropriate for an interview in a prison, but Olive had little choice. Gracia's bridal shower would be held at nine-thirty, and she doubted she'd have enough time to run home and change, so she resigned herself to dressing for the occasion early.

Olive sent Ted an uneasy smile, "Thanks."

"Did you get all dressed up just for me?" Olive sent a deadpan expression Kimblee's way, attempting to reign in the butterflies currently swarming her stomach.

She had hoped the childish attraction would fade after the first week, but she was sadly mistaken. Even the most innocent of Kimblee's comments made her weak in the knees. It was something that brought her deep shame, because he was in prison _for murder_.

That was a fact that should've immediately turned off any positive emotions toward him.

Olive merely smiled despite herself, "Sorry to say I didn't."

"Then what's the occasion?" Kimblee had a way with persuading Olive to divulge information she knew could be dangerous. He was in prison, yes, but it was still unwise to have friendly banter and give out personal information about herself.

"My closest friend is getting married, and I'm throwing her a bridal shower today," Olive knew she should be staying on topic and redirecting the conversation toward him, but she also felt that as long as she didn't give out names or specific places it was fine.

"I'd tell you to offer my congratulations, but all things considered," He gestured with a nod toward his hands, a constant reminder of how dangerous he really was.

"I mean," Olive found herself expressing, "She's aware of the interviews, and she's such a sweetheart she'd probably find it…charming."

His smile made Olive suddenly recall _why_ she was here.

It had been a bad habit of hers, becoming too chummy with Kimblee, "So about the interview…"

She began flipping through her notebook, attempting to locate where she left off.

"And here I thought this would be a friendly visit," His tone was teasing, and Olive found herself absentmindedly playing with her hair at the realization.

"Isn't every visit friendly?" Olivia bit her tongue as the words left her mouth.

Before he could respond, she began asking a question, "During the war… I know a lot of things are classified in some degree, but could you tell me how you felt during…?"

She left it open for interpretation, gauging his expression as she did.

As usual he looked content, smiling as he answered, "I found myself feeling free. My orders were simple: eliminate the enemy by any means necessary. Being a state alchemist gave me more freedom than being a military officer, but that didn't mean there wasn't a lot of… red tape. In Ishval I could use my alchemy to its' fullest extent."

The passion behind his words made Olive quiver slightly. It was both mesmerizing and terrifying.

"And… killing…?"

"I killed them because I was ordered to," He spoke casually, as if he was reading the Sunday paper, "Something that you must be willing to do as a dog of the military, but yet people continue to be surprised."

"What about your superiors?"

Kimblee gave a particular unhinged looking smirk, his eyes almost gleamed as he spoke, "I killed them because I could."

The guards looked like they were nervous. Olive noted how their hands twitched toward their holstered guns, and she decided to switch subjects entirely.

"Do you have any hobbies?" It was the first thing she thought of, and nearly slapped herself in the face for asking it.

Across the table Kimblee looked slightly taken back, but smiled nonetheless, "I enjoy reading from time to time, though I've had much more time to read _in here_."

Something about the way he phrased his answer interested Olive, so she took a leap of faith, "Do you think you belong here, in prison?"

Kimblee shrugged, "I breached protocol. I knew there would be repercussions, but I was willing to face them. That's why I allowed myself to be arrested."

Olive scribbled away, nodding as she spoke, "You _allowed_ yourself to be arrested?"

"Yes," He chuckled, "I only killed my four superiors. If I had wanted, I could've drenched the sand in the blood of Amestrian military soldiers."

"Why didn't you? You could've gotten away, avoided imprisonment?"

"There wasn't anywhere _to_ go, aside from crossing the desert to Xing."

Olive stared at the prisoner across from her, feeling hyper aware of just how powerful and intelligent he was. A lesser man would've fought tooth and nail to escape imprisonment, even if it meant going East and dying in the desert.

She found that familiar tingle returning to her stomach, mentally berating herself at the reaction.

"What drove you to becoming a journalist?"

Olive was caught off guard by the sudden question aimed at herself. Her mouth was agape as her mind processed what had been asked.

"Oh- um-," She cleared her throat to calm her nerves, "-I guess I just wanted to follow in my mother's footsteps. There wasn't anything else I felt I could do honestly."

"No backup plan?" His head leaned to the side slightly.

With a frown and shake of her head she replied candidly, "It was either follow my mom's footsteps and become a journalist, or follow my dad's and join the military."

"I doubt you'd do well in the military."

Olive's eyebrows rose at that comment, "What makes you say that?"

Kimblee chuckled, "While you'd likely follow orders, you're too soft. If it came down to you being ordered to kill someone… you'd lack the gall."

"I think if it were an order I'd likely refuse," She agreed, nodding her head as she spoke.

Olive began to rub her hands together as a chill crept through her body, "But I think if someone threatened myself or my loved ones it'd be a different outcome."

"So you think you're more likely to commit murder if it's a spontaneous life or death situation?"

She nodded, "I think so, but I guess I wouldn't know until I was in the situation."

"For argument's sake," Kimblee snickered, "Let's say you find yourself in that type of situation. How likely are you to be able to gain the upper hand on an armed assailant?"

"I'm resourceful and intelligent," Olive raised her hands into a defensive position, "Just because I may be… _physically_ at a disadvantage doesn't mean I'd lose."

"Losing in a battle means death," He reminded.

Olive found herself rolling her eyes, "I know that, but you can't honestly say you think I'd rather die than kill someone."

Kimblee smiled, "When it came down to it… I don't think you'd be capable of pulling the trigger."

"Well _I_ think I would," She challenged, suddenly finding herself with little more than five minutes to spare and a whole lot of irritation. It wasn't the first time he had managed to rile her up, but it was the first time she had gotten so heated she deviated from the interview entirely.

She mentally chastised herself at getting so defensive over such an insignificant thing.

Kimblee looked beyond pleased at her reaction. Olive inhaled deeply as she shut her eyes, opening them as she exhaled. The action calmed her, if only slightly.

"Looks like we're out of time," He gestured to the clock with his cuffed hands.

Olive frowned, "At least there's always tomorrow." She collected her notebook and pen as she stood to leave the room. His voice made her pause as she walked toward the door.

"Enjoy your party."

She turned to look at him, smiling as she thanked him. All of that pent up anger was effectively vaporized with those three words. She knew it was strange as she walked the hallways with Ted. Her mind kept replaying his expression.

His smile was dashing, contrasting greatly with his prison attire.

It made her wonder if they had met at a different time, under different circumstances, if they could've been friends; if they could've been something more. Olive shook the thought from her mind as she realized Ted had been speaking to her.

"-Does that sound alright?"

She cringed, thankfully out of his line of sight as he was leading her, "Well… I… Sure?" As soon as the words left her mouth she regretted them, because he paused mid step to turn and shoot her a toothy grin.

"Great! How does Friday night sound? I'll pick you up at seven," The elation was clear in his words and expression as they continued down the hallway. Olive's stomach plummeted as she suppressed a sigh.

Olive contemplated how she could possibly get out of the agreement, but she couldn't bare to hurt the man's feelings, "Sure Ted. Seven is perfect." Her tone was flat, but he didn't seem to notice or care.

After she wrote down her address on a piece of paper she made her way to her friend's favorite little teashop, the location chosen for the bridal shower.

Gracia was beyond gorgeous. She wore a modest, high-neck, baby blue dress that tapered to her knees. Along with a pair of simple white heels.

"Oh Gracia," Olive blinked rapidly to halt her tears, "You look so beautiful! I don't think I'll survive your wedding if this is how you look at your shower!"

Effie chortled at her daughter's reaction, "Liv, don't you go blubbering now! You're the maid of honor, don't you have duties to attend to?" The question was welcome as Olive realized she had many things to do during the shower.

The food was simple and tasty, the decorations were already in place thanks to Maes coercing several coworkers into helping, and the guests were steadily arriving. Olive made sure to write down each gift Gracia received, along with a brief description of the item and who it was from.

Of course the tearoom attendants took care of refills and removing plates, so that was a relief.

"Okay everyone, it's time for games," Olive barely got the words out as squeals assaulted her ears. She giggled with mirth as she announced, "So first we have design the dress! You'll find a paper and pencils at each table. What you'll do is draw what you imagine Gracia's dress will be! She of course hasn't picked one out yet, but the closest to what _she_ draws as her ideal will win a prize!"

The games went over well, everyone got involved and several people won prizes. Most importantly, Gracia had fun. She laughed and enjoyed every moment of her bridal shower.


	4. Chapter 4

_The Occupational Hazards of a Journalist_

 _By - AhriRose_

 _Disclaimer_ : Anything you recognize does **not** belong to me.

Fullmetal Alchemist © Hiroshi Arakawa

 _Notes_ : Thank you everyone for reading and following, favoring, and reviewing! It means so much.

 _Chapter Four_

Solf J. Kimblee was more than ready to spend his days in prison. He knew it would be maddening not being able to create his mesmerizing explosions, but he was fully prepared to endure.

When an officer came by to inquire about his possible willingness to be interviewed he was completely elated at the idea. Central Today, one of the most well known papers in Amestris, wanted to interview _him_. They wanted to know all about his childhood, his adulthood, and all about the War of Ishval and his crimes.

Of course he said yes.

It would be intriguing to see what questions the reporter asked. Even more so to see how they reacted to his answers.

The young Olive Blake quelled his intrigue regarding the interview, but a new curiosity bloomed. She was seemingly innocent. Almost sickeningly so to Kimblee. And she was very obviously attracted to him.

Kimblee had always been interested in the human mind, and how people reacted to certain situations. Olive was a textbook example of someone who was clearly infatuated.

She let her eyes linger too long. Her nervous habits of biting her lip, twirling her hair, and massaging her hands together just strengthened his suspicions. Not to mention she was always overly friendly, and always eager to answer _his_ questions.

At first he found it cute.

It was all too obvious this was her first interview. She stumbled over questions, asked questions out of order, and sometimes asked completely unrelated questions. She spent too much time thumbing through her notebook and not enough analyzing him.

She was superficial. Kimblee was certain of that. Every day she interviewed him, staying for the full hour allotted. Afterward he was led back to his cell, and he spent much of that time pondering.

Olive was attracted to his appearance. Perhaps she was even attracted to his status as a powerful alchemist, or his criminal status. He hadn't quite figured out which was more plausible, but he was tentatively leaning toward a combination of the two.

"Um… could you tell me more about your personal life?"

He sent her a charming smile. One he had used many times before on the opposite sex. He was not above using his charm to procure what he wanted.

"Is there anything in particular you'd like to know?"

She bit her lip as she allowed her eyes to drift down to his hands. It was almost like she was drawn to them, making Kimblee brim with pride over his powerful alchemy. He mentally promised he would show her a demonstration someday.

"Well…"

Her eyes widened as she began reading her notebook once more, "A-Ah, dating?!"

Kimblee raised an eyebrow at her disbelief, "Dating?"

She looked up, startled that she had spoken aloud, "S-Sorry! I just read the question, and I feel it's a bit invasive but…"

He chuckled at her unwillingness to pry into his life, "I knew what I signed up for when I agreed to do this. Go ahead, I won't bite." She flinched slightly at his wink.

With a sigh she questioned, "So I know you said you didn't make any… um… unnecessary attachments during your training, but have you ever dated someone?"

"I have dated several women," He divulged with a shrug, "I didn't find any of them more than mildly entertaining. Someone to pass the time with, I suppose."

"What was your longest relationship?"

He seemed deep in thought as his eyes flickered to the upper left, "Sophie Reed. We dated for a little over eight months. She was a nice girl, sweet. Always made time for me, always willing to do whatever she thought would make me happy."

Olive frowned at that, "What do you mean by, 'whatever she thought would make me happy'?"

"Sophie was a virgin when she met me. She was saving herself for someone special," The corner of his lip quirked into a smirk at Olive's wide eyes.

"So you manipulated her? Into sleeping with you?"

Kimblee shook his head, "I did no such thing. She had just mistakenly believed I was that someone. She thought I wanted sex."

"You didn't?" Olive was confused at this information.

"I don't require sex. I'm an intelligent man Miss Blake," Kimblee shrugged, "While sex is welcome, it isn't something I find myself seeking out."

"Why didn't you tell her…?"

"Tell her what? That I _wasn't_ her someone special? Sometimes the best lessons you learn, are the ones brought about through pain." His eyes darkened at this, eliciting a shiver down Olive's spine.

After a few moments of silence, Kimblee spoke once more, "What about you Miss Blake? What is the longest relationship _you've_ had?"

She was taken back, " _Me_?"

At his nod and chuckle she answered, "I… Well, I guess a year? It wasn't a very serious relationship, just a high school fling really." As the words left her mouth she cringed, screwing her eyes shut tightly as Kimblee began to chuckle.

"A fling? You started experimenting early then," His smirk intensified as her embarrassment deepened. He was nearly certain her entire face was reddening.

With a sigh she conceded, "I had a rebellious streak."

"So how many serious relationships have you had?" Olive opened her eyes, furrowing her brows as she assessed the man across from her.

"Honestly? None," She frowned at her admission, "I never really found anyone that was worth keeping around for more than a few months."

Kimblee nodded, "Most people aren't worth keeping around period. Unless of course they have some value."

"Value?" Olive was genuinely curious, forgoing her usual scribblings.

"If the person can be used to further your own endeavors," Kimblee smiled, "It's always useful having ties with high-ranking individuals, or people in power." Olive found herself nodding, shocking herself as she agreed with his thought process.

"I guess we all sometimes use one another," She mused.

"Not just sometimes," His smile turned into a smirk, "Even the most innocent of relationships are built on using one another; whether it be to fulfill a personal goal or emptiness within oneself."

Olive furrowed her brows as she contemplated his words.

She had made friends to fulfill an emptiness. Loneliness was usually the first reason people made connects with one another.

Networking had always been encouraged and ingrained in her mind, even as a small child. Her mother and uncle drilled it into her mind when she went to school. While they hadn't verbalized it, she knew they had to be at least a little disappointed at her lack of networking.

"Yeah," She sighed, "Yeah, you're right Kimblee."

"Please, call me Solf," His permission shocked Olive.

Her eyes widened slightly, before returning to normal, "O-Okay… Solf." She smiled as she spoke his name, feeling accomplished at being granted such an exclusive privilege. From her research, and from her time in the prison, she had only heard people refer to him as Kimblee or Crimson Alchemist. Never had anyone called him by his first name.

She had wondered if it had been a personal preference, if he had perhaps disliked his first name, but she had never thought to ask him.

As the short clock hand began itching closer to the twelve she began shuffling her notes back into her notebook, eyeing Kimblee every so often as she did.

"You," Olive took a deep breath through her nose, "You can call me Liv, if you want." She exhaled as she stood from her seat.

"Liv?" His voice made her pause as she reached for her notebook. She quirked an eyebrow upward in question.

"Why not Olive?"

She cringed as her lip retreated beneath her teeth. "I'm not overly found of my name, honestly. It's… It's sort of a long story as to why, but I just go by Liv now. Other than when I first introduce myself or have to sign government forms anyway…"

It was Kimblee's turn to quirk an eyebrow at her admission, "Perhaps you could tell me that story tomorrow?"

Olive frowned as she gave a harsh sigh, "I'm sorry, but I'll have to see you the day after tomorrow. I have to go to Gr- _my friend's_ \- my friend's dress shopping tomorrow." Kimblee looked uninterested at the explanation, but nodded nonetheless.

As she made her way down the hallways with Ted, he spoke suddenly, "You shouldn't be on a first name basis with him."

She jumped at his abrupt voice, but hummed in response. Inwardly she thought it was none of his business who she was on a first name basis with, but a second thought entered her mind; was it safe to feel so comfortable with Solf J. Kimblee?


	5. Chapter 5

_The Occupational Hazards of a Journalist_

 _By - AhriRose_

 _Disclaimer_ : Anything you recognize does **not** belong to me.

Fullmetal Alchemist © Hiroshi Arakawa

 _Notes:_ I apologize for disappearing for a little over a year. I have bursts of inspiration rather than a steady flow, but I'm hoping to at least put a chapter up every month or so, perhaps more, we'll see. I will say no matter how long the time frame between uploads I have no intention of abandoning!

I'd like to take a sec and thank everyone that has favorited and followed this story! It means a lot that people are enjoying it, and I hope you all continue to enjoy.

Special thanks to those that have reviewed! I appreciate thoughts, comments, constructive criticism and the like.

 _Chapter Five_

A single tear slide down Olive's cheek as she eyed Gracia. She looked absolutely stunning in the wedding gown, it was a classic white a-line gown. "Wow," She exhaled, "You look…wow."

Gracia gave a little twirl, before eying herself in the mirror. She sniffled, "I think this may be the one." Olive wiped her face quickly, before standing to grab a veil from the stand beside the dressing rooms. "And for the final touch," She sang as she clipped the veil into Gracia's hair.

"Do you think Maes will love it?"

Olive snorted, "Are you kidding? The man would love you even if you walked down the aisle in a garbage can Grace." The pair laughed at the mental image. "Honestly," Olive smiled, "He'll probably burst into tears at the sight of you, because I can barely hold mine in."

Afterward the pair went back to Gracia's apartment. A sweet aroma filled the air the moment they stepped through the doorway. "You didn't," Olive accused. Gracia gave a guilty smile, "I know you said not to, but I couldn't resist."

"Forget lunch," Olive eyed the pie sitting in the center of the table, "Let's just have pie."

Gracia tutted, "Ah ah ah!" She picked the pie up and brought it into her kitchen, where she placed it on the counter. "You can take it with you after lunch, I'm sure Uncle Win will be more than happy for you to share."

Olive shrugged, "You make a good point."

Lunch was a beautifully constructed sandwich with a side of Gracia's homemade potato leek soup. "I might have to move in with you and Maes," Olive sighed as she took a bite.

"I'm not sure Maes will be willing to share," Gracia laughed, "We're going out tomorrow. Would you like to come? I know Maes invited Roy." She sang out the man's name.

"I sort of accepted a date," Olive cringed at her own words, "One of the guards at the prison— Ted."

Gracia's eyes widened, "Oh? What do you mean _sort of_ accepted…?"

"I may have been half listening." Gracia sighed at her friend's honestly, "I'm sure Maes will understand, but I'm not sure he's willing to let you off the hook about Roy taking you to the wedding."

Olive rolled her eyes, "I just don't want to go with someone I don't know."

"Then why not bring Ted?"

She shivered at the notion, "Raincheck on that, because I'm nearly certain tomorrow's going to be miserable."

Gracia gave her hand a pat as she grabbed the dishes from the table. "I'm only teasing," She paused before depositing the dishes into the sink, "Although I wouldn't mind if you brought a date. You do have a plus one."

The only person Olive could imagine bringing was sitting in a cell. A thought that brought her forehead to meet the table as she heaved a sigh. Gracia rose a brow at her friend's actions, but chose not to comment.

The following day Olive found herself dreading arriving at the prison. Not because of her interviewee, no, because of the man she agreed to go on a date with.

He was beaming the moment she entered the room, chatting her ear off about what he had planned for their extravagant evening. Olive wasted no time in cutting in, "I honestly don't mind if we just do something simple. I like simple even."

Ted paused, but nodded, "Oh, okay. Honestly that's a relief." She quirked a brow at that. "It's just," He scratched the back of his head, "Some women in this city are materialistic as hell. And with your mother being who she is, I sort of figured…"

Olive bristled at that, eyes narrowing in his direction.

"Not that it's your fault!" He threw his hands up, "You can't choose your parents after all." They remained in silence until he opened the door for her, choosing then to say quite loudly, "I'm looking forward to our date later."

Her brows went up at his timing, and she snuck a quick glance at Kimblee. He had a single brow rose, but hadn't commented on it, yet.

"I was thinking we could go over-"

"I didn't take Ted as your type," Kimblee interjected with a smirk.

Olive froze as she brought her gaze to his. She took a second to exhaled, "And what exactly is my type, according to you?"

"Someone intelligent," He looked up at the ceiling, "Attractive, spontaneous, unafraid to get their hands dirty." His eyes bore into Olive's, his brow raising as if to challenge her. She bit her lip as she moved forward slightly, only stopping once her body came into contact with the table.

"If I didn't know any better," Olive glanced toward the door, "I'd say you were describing yourself."

"Do you find me attractive _Liv_?" Her name slid off his tongue in a pleasant way. "I've been contemplating it, and I just can't figure out what about me entices you."

Olive's hands began busing themselves with each other. She began looking anywhere except at him as she attempted a sentence, "I never- I never said that Solf."

"I never said you did, but I did ask you a question," His voice lowered, "It would be rude not to answer when I've answered everything you've asked me."

She met his eyes, lip retreating under her teeth as she contemplated her answer. She could lie, but he'd see through it in under a second. He'd see right through _her_ in that time. "I guess I," She whispered, "I guess I just find _you_ attractive."

He quirked a brow, waiting patiently for her answer.

"Everything you said. Your intelligence, your spontaneity, your lack of fear… the way you look and carry yourself even," Olive held his gaze, "I don't know that it's just one thing." She paused as she glanced at the guards before moving forward again, "I know you're dangerous, and I know you're in prison and it's… _messed up_ of me to even _think_ of you that way, but I can't help it."

Kimblee smirked, clearly satisfied. "You have similar qualities."

Olive sat back in her seat, "To you?" He nodded, "Some might argue your intelligence, seeing as you just admitted to finding _a criminal_ attractive." Olive cringed. "You _are_ intelligent though, just not in the ways some might expect," She tilted her head as she took in his words, "I'd say you have a healthy dose of fear in you. You aren't strong enough to be completely devoid of it."

"I didn't mean to accept his offer," Olive suddenly chimed.

Kimblee laughed, "I imagine you were only half listening to him? He sprung it on you suddenly?" Olive nodded, surprise written on her face. Kimblee shrugged, "The man's been _bragging_ about how he'd get you to agree to go on a date with him."

She wilted at that, "Really?"

"Word is the man's a tactless creep," He divulged, "I'd be wary of accepting any invitations to his home, but you're free to make your own mistakes."

"Thank you," Olive whispered, "Solf."

If she thought she could make up a good enough excuse to miss the date she would've. As it happened she was being dolled up by her mother who was ecstatic about her dating _anyone._

"Maybe you could bring him to Gracia's wedding, hm?"

Olive cringed, "No, no, no."

Effie huffed, "Well you've got to bring someone. And if you don't I'll ask the man myself, you know I don't mind speaking on your behalf when you're shy dear. Remember the Wallis boy?"

"I," Olive closed her eyes as the words left her mouth, "I already have a date to the wedding Mom." Her mother quirked a brow at that, a smile stretching across her lips as she hugged her daughter, "Finally! Who is he? Is he a groomsmen? An honored guest perhaps?"

Against her better judgment Olive began lying through her teeth, "I'm going with Roy, Mae's best man. He's-"

"-Roy as in _the_ Roy Mustang? _Hero of Ishval_?" Olive's nod was all Effie needed to go on a tangent about the man. About how he was the _exact_ person Olive needed to marry. Successful, handsome, and undoubtedly rich.

Olive regretted the lie, but she was in too deep now.

Her date arrived right on time, and Olive couldn't stop the sigh leaving her body. Her mother had invited the man in, sized him up even. Ted had his eyes narrowed, as if he already decided he hated her. Not that it was surprising with his words from earlier.

The date was simple, just a dinner.

Ted attempted to make conversation, but Olive settled for the occasional neutral answer and nod. He didn't seem to mind. It wasn't until he said something particularly strange halfway through dessert that Olive changed her strategy.

"It's a wonder you can deal with her," He spoke through his bites of chocolate cake.

Olive shivered at his manners, but questioned, "Her who?" She had her suspicions, but she didn't want to make unjust assumptions. "Your mother," He shrugged as if it were obvious. She nodded, coaxing him to continue. "You know my dad asked her on a date a few years back, after your old man passed," He admitted, "She turned him down. Nose upturned and all. Shallow as a pond."

"How do you figure?" She asked, jaw clenched.

"Well my father is well off as far as finances go, and women find him attractive so," Ted gave a chuckled, "Suppose it's better she rejected him though, else we'd be step siblings."

She nodded, taking in his words. "And so she's shallow then? Because she refused to date your father? She didn't actually say that was why though, so you're just assuming." Ted's jaw seemingly unhinged at her sudden spark. "It couldn't have been that she was _in mourning_ , could it? Or that she simply _wasn't_ interested? No it must be that she's _shallow_."

Ted stammered out a response, but Olive had already slapped her napkin onto the table. She stalked out of the restaurant, eyes narrowed as her heels clicked against the ground.

As she rounded the corner she ran into a familiar face, quite literally.

"Oh I'm so— _Olive_?!" It was Maes Hughes, her best friend's fiancé. His eyes were wide as he gave her a heartfelt hug. She was simply shocked, unable to respond. "It's so wonderful to see you again, _and what a fortuitous coincidence_!"

Olive raised a brow as he released her and gestured to the dark haired man to his right. "This is Roy Mustang. The Flame Alchemist himself, best friend and best man extraordinaire—"

"Can we not," The man sighed. He held out a bare hand with a smile, "Nice to meet you Miss Blake. Maes hasn't shut up about you." Olive grasped his hand, shaking it as her lips twitched upward. "Well," She chuckled as she released his hand, "It's nice to meet you as well Mr. Mustang. He also hasn't shut up about you, or his _delusional_ fantasies."

Maes suddenly erupted into tears, "You two are so perfect together!"

The mood dropped. "At least come to the wedding together, _please_! It could be your wedding present to us," After a moment of thought he added, "Although _I am_ hoping for something material if I'm being honest." He stroked the stubble on his chin.

Roy rolled his eyes and opened his mouth, but Olive suddenly recalled her lie. "Actually," She interjected with a small laugh, "I sort of told my mom I was going with you… So if you didn't have any other date plans…?"

He rose a brow, "Your mom?"

"Effie Blake," Maes answered, "She was one of the top reporters when we were in Ishval, wrote for Central Today. I think she still does, right Olive?"

"Yeah," She nodded. "Although now she's confined to gossip or advice columns now," She chuckled, "Curtesy of my uncle."

"Well I wouldn't want to make you a liar," Roy sent a wink her way. She rolled her eyes and smiled, "It doesn't have to be _an actual_ date, just a friendly one?"

Roy shrugged, jerking his thumb in Maes' direction, "Whichever shuts this one up."

"I'm calling it a date either way," Maes smiled, "Gracia will be over the moon! We should go tell her right now!" He raced off in the opposite direction, Roy shouting after him, "At least let us get dinner first! Maes get back here! You dragged me all the way out here!" Olive stood there, scratching the back of her head, nervously laughing at the scene unfolding and the onlookers watching with wide eyes.

 ** _Notes:_** Thank you for reading!


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